


Phantom, Adroable and Charming

by Raxacoriocofallapatorius



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: AU, Can you not tell?, E/C FTW, F/M, Genderbending, READ THE STORY!, Raoul's a fop, Really getting into tags, Why are you still reading this?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 06:13:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raxacoriocofallapatorius/pseuds/Raxacoriocofallapatorius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christian has always dreamed of being a singer at the Opera Populaire and when his mother dies, he goes there looking for work. And he's hired... but as a stagehand. Erika, the resident phantom, lurks behind corners and walls and comes across the undiscovered prodigy singing to himself one day. Entranced, Erika makes every effort to help Christian achieve his goal, but falls for him along the way. Will Christian ever return the feelings or is Erika's pining going to have no end?</p>
<p>Genderswap rewrite of a mixture of Kay's "Phantom" and ALW's "Phantom of the Opera" with a little of Leroux's original novel. Not all characters are switched, in fact most aren't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've only recently gotten into the world of POTO fan fictions and as I scrolled through potential stories-to-read, I couldn't help but notice that I couldn't find any gender-benders. A bit put back, I began to wonder why. Thinking on the story itself, having a woman (instead of a man) haunt an opera house and murder people and do a BUNCH of heavy lifting to set up traps and such seems a bit far-fetched. And then you have to think about Christine, this shy ballet girl who only wants to sing out and shine. How could that ... fragility be "transferred" into a male character? And then there was the whole kidnapping thing and it all seems too complicated and difficult. So I could only think of one response: 
> 
> "CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!" 
> 
> Even though I've said that it's a gender-bender, not all the characters' genders have been flipped. In fact, most of them have remained the same. The story itself follows the same lines, but I've had to rearrange some things and twist others to make it match, including the fact that the Phantom is younger and closer to Christine's character's age. I think that this is a mixture of Limoux's and ALW's POTO story, but it really is a thing all its own. I hope you enjoy and feel free to review. :D  
> ~Raxi
> 
> (PS - I own NOTHING! Not _Faust_ , not the Phantom of the Opera, not anything but my own thoughts and imagination. FYI - all lyrics are in italics and the Faust lyrics are the literal translation of the French opera.)

On the catwalk a tall young gentleman leaned on the rope railings, a dreamy look on his face as he listened to the music floating up from the stage below. It was the first rehearsal of the opera house's latest production of Faust, and Mephistopheles had just appeared to the old man below, with a deal ready to be signed. The man on the catwalk, who looked to be about twenty-five, began to whisper Faust's response to Mephistopheles's questions of what he desires.

" _No, I want a treasure which contains all. I want youth_ ," he softly sang, taking a moment to revel in the orchestra's rising and falling melodies, and absorbing the harmonic lines that helped support both the melody and the lyrics of the opera. " _For me, energy, powerful instincts, and wild revels of the heart and the -_ "

"BOY!" A gruff voice called out in a stage whisper. When the young man didn't react, the voice said again, "Christian Daáe! Get your head out of the clouds." The voice got closer. "Chris! If you don't stop standing and staring out into space like a worthless louse, I will gladly relieve you of your measly position!" A large, hairy hand grabbed Chris's shoulder and roughly pulled him from the edge of the catwalk. Chris started when he was suddenly staring at a large, round bearded face that had fat lips, a long broken nose, and two beady eyes. Joseph Buquet glared at the young man's soft blue eyes with his own hard brown ones. "You're lucky you haven't been fired yet. I would have let you go days after you had started if you didn't work so hard when your head wasn't in the damn clouds." His voice was a gravelly whisper as to not disturb the actors below.

Chris lowered his head, avoiding those mud-brown eyes, "I'm sorry sir. It won't happen again, sir. I'll get right back to work, sir," he said in a monotone before turning right around and walking off the catwalk, still humming and singing under his breath, " _To you! to you, to you, Phantom, adorable and charming!_ "

Erika silently slid from shadow to shadow as she followed the young stage hand. She drew closer as he stopped to gaze down at the actors below. Erika's breathing slowed as she took in his profile. Still watching him, Erika noticed his lips barely moving. Curious, she drew closer still until she could hear him softly singing.

"BOY!" The heavy footsteps of the idiot chief of the flies were getting closer. Cursing silently, Erika slid back into the shadows and waited for the buffoon to leave. Normally Erika didn't take any interest in anything, but somehow this tall young lad had attracted her attention.

The day he had come to the Opera Populaire, Erika had been lurking behind the thin walls of Manager Debierne's office when Madame Giry had burst into the office. Erika had nearly cried out, but only years of practice had kept her silent. Madame Giry, who was normally composed and as easy to read as a rock, seemed unsettled by something. Debierne didn't acknowledge her and focused only on that month's figures until Erika, in all her frustration, hit the wall lightly, causing Debierne's portrait to fall.

Jumping in surprise, Debierne finally noticed Madame Giry after glancing back at the unharmed painting. Looking back down at the paper in front of him, Debierne only asked sharply, "What can I do for you, Madame?"

Madame Giry stared right at where the portrait had hung only moments ago for a time before answering. "A young boy has arrived today, looking for work in the opera house," she began.

"Madame Giry," Debierne sighed heavily before lifting his head. "I have no time for trivial matters such as this. And we have no money to hire any more employees. Signora Carlotta and Signor Piangi's demands have begun to take their toll on our profit. Now," Debierne looked back down, "if you would please see yourself out, I have other matters to attend to." He gestured absently toward the door, but Madame Giry didn't move.

"In all my years working here, I have promised and delivered the best ballerinas and asked for nothing extra in return." Madame Giry leaned forward, slamming her hands on the desk, making both Debierne and Erika, who was still listening behind the wall, jump. Normally nothing could rustle Madame Giry's feathers. Erika had seen her set a badly broken ankle without batting an eye. This was highly unorthodox.

Debierne finally heard the urgency in her voice and looked up into her deep green eyes. "That is true..." He leaned back in his chair, making it creak.

"Well, this child is the son of my dearest friend. I have only just found out, upon his arrival, that she has," Madame Giry nearly choked on the words, "d-died. But, I know for a fact that Christian is a hard worker and only requests a small salary, only enough to get him by, and free lodgings." At that, Debierne focused sharply on Madame Giry, leaning forward angrily.

"FREE. LODGINGS?" he spat. "This is an opera house, not some scummy inn! If he's so desperate for a house, and you seem so close to him, why don't you provide this Christian a home?" Debierne looked at her expectantly.

Madame Giry just looked at him grimly. "Think about it. You could pay him a proper amount for his work, which, may I remind you, is almost three times the amount he is asking, or you could pay him a minimal amount and give him one of the old, dusty, unused rooms." Madame Giry smirked at Debierne. "Your choice."

Getting flustered, Debierne exclaimed, "Or I can just not hire him! What about that?!"

Madame Giry smirked again, as if expecting the question. "Well, if you don't employ Monsieur Christian, I will be retiring from your employment and seek work elsewhere." She paused and then started, as if a thought had come to her. "His last name is Daáe, if that makes any difference..."

Debierne nearly fell out of his chair. "D-Daáe?" he stuttered. "As in the famous violinist, Daáe? T-that Daáe?" Erika softly snickered at Debierne's reaction, although she was impressed herself. Gustav Daáe was a self-made man who had risen from a street performer to a famous concert violinist. His name, although still relatively new to the industry, was still well known to anyone versed in music. _I've never heard him mention a son before..._ Erika pondered. _I don't think he ever mentioned a wife either..._

"Yes. Christian Daáe is the son of Gustav Daáe, but I pray you, make no mention of his father to him. Gustav left Christian and his mother, Jacqueline, when Christian was very young." Debierne sat listening intently. "And even though he is still alive, Christian acts like he died when he left his family behind and claims to now be an orphan." Madame Giry held back a smile as Debierne nodded in a child-like manner. "So I take it you are considering my offers?"

In that moment, Debierne remembered himself and nodded sharply. "I have... And I've decided. I will let the boy work as a stage hand and he can lodge in the last room on the farthest hall in the East wing." Madame Giry looked practically ecstatic. "Now, leave me and give the boy your news. Go now," Debierne waved her out, focusing back on his papers.

Erika smiled softly as she remembered how she had practically run through the walls to get a glimpse of the oh-so-important, Christian Daáe. Unfortunately, it wasn't until a week later that Erika had actually run into him. He was definitely pleasing to the eye with red curly hair, a tall lean form, and soft blue eyes that seemed eternally melancholy. But it wasn't until Erika had heard his voice that she had taken an interest.

Before she could delve into that memory, Joseph Buquet, the previously mentioned chief of the flies, stormed by her hiding spot, muttering under his breath about "day-dreaming maggots." Looking down the catwalk, Erika saw Christian roll his eyes and sigh heavily before turning away. Swiftly pressing one of the secret panels, Erika slid silently into the now opened tunnel.

_I must end this unhealthy obsession_ , Erika thought sadly. _It's not like he could ever reciprocate with any sort of feelings..._

That afternoon, Chris took his bath for the week before setting about his small room and getting dressed again. He had a very special occasion and wanted to look, and smell, his best. The opera house in which he worked as a stage hand was holding auditions for the chorus, and Chris, who has always wanted to sing on stage, figured that being in the chorus would be as close as he could get to being a leading singer.

It wasn't that Chris's voice wasn't good, or that he didn't have the will power to accomplish that goal; it's just that the manager stuck with what worked and wasn't a gambler. Plus, Madame Giry, his deceased mother's dear old friend, was naturally, if not automatically, in favor of him and showed it by letting him stay in one of the spare rooms at the Opera house. One could argue that Chris was getting a special treatment.

"One" already has but, thankfully, her protests have been ignored on every occasion. It seemed that, even though he wasn't direct competition, Signora Carlotta, the prima donna at the Opera Populaire, has had a death wish against Chris since he showed up at Madame Giry's doorstep three months ago. She took one look at his long and lean body, his blue eyes and curly red hair, and his constant smile and distant gaze and decided that he wasn't worthy of the Opera Populaire. Or of her.

Looking at the full length mirror long enough to adjust the vest that was secure around his clean white shirt, and to make sure that his hair was tightly pulled back, Chris bent down to clean up after his bath, a small courtesy he did every time he messed something up in the humble room. As he mopped up the creaking wooden floor, Chris softly sang a later part in Faust, the moments where a now young Faust is in town and searching for his beloved Marguerite. He was singing, " _Where is she hiding, the beautiful child whom your art caused me to see? Is it a vain enchantment?_ " when he heard a loud thump from the far wall that held the hanging full-length mirror. Chris paused, and turned to face it, raising an eyebrow in puzzlement. Shrugging, he turned back to his work and continued, " _Won't you permit, my beautiful lady, me to offer you an arm, to guide your way?_ " And the thump sounded again from the same area by the mirror.

Completely confused now, Chris abandoned his effort to clean up the spilt water and meandered over to the mirror. He looked all around, floor to ceiling, for any loose or hanging object that could have made the noise. Seeing nothing, he looked directly at the mirror, tilting his head to the side and squinting. Slowly he approached the unsoiled surface, pressed his ear to it, and knocked twice. Moments crawled by and no responding knock resounded. Chris shrugged once more and moved away to gather his things and head to the stage.

Hidden behind the mirror, a slim figure gently rested its head against the pane and whispered softly, "Oh Christian..."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a lot to bring over from Fanfiction with this story. I've got my work cut out for me. Sixteen chapters. Over 20k words. *sigh* But it'll be worth it. :)
> 
> The song Christian sings when he's lamenting is an actual lullaby. I don't know how old it is, but it was so sweet I felt it would work. >.

Despite the voice of reason always whispering in Erika's ear, she couldn't keep away from Christian. For the last few weeks, Erika had followed him practically everywhere and was with him at every moment, save the private places and moments. She had watched him work hard backstage, shirt off and muscled chest sweating. She had heard his sultry voice singing to himself as he worked, even after being told to stop. She had seen the excitement on his face when the date of the chorus tryouts was posted.

Erika had listened to Christian practice his piece every night since. And now it was the day of the auditions.

_What if the idiot manager does not recognize his natural talent?_ Erika silently fretted as she waited for the tell-tale sounds of Christian draining the tub. Christian taking a bath was one of those times when Erika couldn't lower herself to look. No matter how much she wanted to. _What if Christian does not get hired?_ This possibility made Erika angry. _Well! I shall ensure that he is hired. Not even Debierne could deny the Phantom of the Opera!_

Now that she had Christian's immediate future handled, Erika began to worry about the other singers. Especially Signora Carlotta. _That over glorified Italian will be the death of the Opera Populaire..._ While imagining ways to rid the opera house of that wretched woman, Erika finally heard the water drain.

Relieved that she could gaze at Christian once more, Erika dashed around the tunnel corner and stopped in front of the back side of a one-way mirror. As Christian adjusted his outfit, fretting over his unruly hair, Erika's eyes couldn't help but wander up and down, taking in all of Christian. _I wonder what he looks like without..._ Erika's mind rambled, until she noticed and shook her head frantically to dispel such thoughts.

By the time Erika had recollected herself, Christian had begun to mop up the water that spilled, a ritual that Erika knew brought endless joy to the cleaning ladies. She simply watched him and drew closer to the mirror that separated them, a soft smile playing on her lips. Then she heard he was singing Faust.

" _Where is she hiding, the beautiful child whom your art caused me to see? Is it a vain enchantment?_ " Even though Christian had no idea she was there, Erika couldn't help but feel he was singing about her. At the thought of that, she lurched forward, accidentally hitting her hand against the mirror. Erika flinched, pulling back, when she saw that Christian noticed. Obviously thinking nothing of it, he shrugged and turned back to work. " _Won't you permit, my beautiful lady, me to offer you an arm, to guide your way?_ "

_Too much... Too much!_ Erika thought as she slowly lowered herself down to the ground, her hand accidentally hitting the mirror again. She didn't dare to move or make any noise as Christian drew near, carefully inspecting the mirror. Erika watched him as he cocked his head before gently laying his ear against the mirror's surface. He knocked twice and paused, obviously awaiting Erika to answer, even though he had no idea anybody was there at all.

Finally he pulled back. Erika's eyes followed as she slowly rose to her feet again. After the door shut securely behind Christian, Erika gently rested her head against the pane and whispered softly, "Oh Christian..."

****

**_~*~*~*~_**

 ****

"I'm here! I'm here!" Chris yelled as he ran onto the empty stage. "I'm sorry I'm late." Even though Chris had lived at the Opera Populaire for the majority of the three months he's worked there, he had gotten lost on his way up. Chris had been imagining what it must be like to experience the rush of singing on stage with an audience, and the warmth that he would feel when the audience was cheering for him. After nearly running into a stone column, Chris had realized that in his distracted state, he had ended up going the opposite direction and was going to miss the audition.

And even though he had run all the way to the stage, Chris was still too late.

Monsieur Reyer looked up from gathering his papers at the sound of heavy footsteps echoing around the house. Upon seeing Chris breathing heavily and waving his arms, Reyer began to shake his head. "I'm sorry monsieur. You were too late," he called out to the heaving man. Reyer finished gathering his belongings and left the house. All alone, Chris collapsed to the stage, unable to stop a cry escaping his lips.

His last chance before the next season. His last chance and he blew it. Blew it all because he couldn't be serious, couldn't focus. Taking comfort that there was no one else there, Chris slowly curled into a ball on the stage and began to sob softly. After all the tears stopped, he slowly lifted his aching body on one arm, dried his eyes with the other, and began shakily singing a lullaby that his mother sang him, but made it slow and lamenting.

" _My heart is like a singing bird, whose nest is in a watered shoot; My heart is like an apple tree whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell that paddles in a purple sea; My heart is gladder than all these because my love is come to me._

" _Raise me a dais of silk and down; Hang it with vair and purple dyes; Carve it in doves and pomegranates, and peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes, in leaves and silver fleur-de-lys; Because the birthday of my life is come, my love, is come to me._ "

As he slowed and quieted to a stop, Chris heard a small applause echoing about the cavernous room. Startled and embarrassed that someone else had seen him shed his manhood and sob on the floor, Chris practically sprang to his feet and called out, "Who is there? I ask that you show yourself." His words echoed about, until they were no more. Frustrated beyond belief, Chris raised his voice in anger and yelled, "Show yourself or make yourself known!"

Time crawled by until finally a voice answered softly, "Forget me ... and I shall forget you."

****

**_~*~*~*~_**

 ****

Although the tunnels throughout the opera house were devoid of any other person, they twisted and turned so it took Erika longer than expected to reach the theatre. By the time she slipped through the hidden door in Box 5, Christian had already lost his chance. Erika quietly stepped to the edge of the curtains' shadows and held her breath as she watched her Christian whimper as he curled himself into a tight knit ball.

_I should give him some privacy_ , Erika thought as she began backing up. _I really should..._ but her thoughts were interrupted by a soft crooning that drowned in longing and loneliness. Curious, Erika stepped forward again to find that heartbroken, lamenting song was coming from Christian, who had lifted himself to an arm.

" _Work it in gold and silver grapes, in leaves and silver fleur-de-lys; Because the birthday of my life is come, my love, is come to me..._ " Christian's face was streaked with tear-tracks, and his eyes were overflowing with melancholy. Unable to help herself, Erika began to lethargically applause. When the sound reached Christian's ears, he leapt to his feet, obviously angry, and shouted, "Who is there? I ask that you show yourself."

Erika nearly walked out into the light at the note of desperation in his voice, but she caught herself and withdrew deeper into the shadows instead. Silently, she watched Christian grow cross.

"Show yourself or make yourself known!" he shouted. Erika's mind raced as Christian awaited a reply. She instinctively knew that he would not part until he heard something from the person that was present, so she had no choice but to speak.

Heart pounding in her ears, Erika glided forward to the very edge of the box's shadows. Her eyes were trained on Christian's fidgeting form on the stage and she licked her lips, anxiety drying her throat and mouth. Finally, Erika spoke, in a little more than a whisper, "Forget me ... and I shall forget you."

Hastily removing herself from the theatre area before she did something else foolish, Erika ran her gloved fingers through her loose hair muttering, "And I will. I will forget you..." It was a promise that she needed to keep, no matter how impossible...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whilst going back to copy these over from Fanfiction, I realized just how raw these initial chapters are. If you're willing to stick with it, I promise you the chapters grow more cohesive. Please. They get better.

Erika smirked at the look on Debierne's face as he read her latest note aloud to Madame Giry, who had, per usual, delivered it upon her request. Only Madame Giry, long time worker of the Opera Populaire, was trustworthy or smart enough to handle being Erika's messenger. For years, Erika had admired the way Madame Giry handled the ballet brats, but it wasn't until a few years ago that she began utilizing Giry. Since then, Madame Giry had been delivering Erika's notes and, in return of her confidence, receiving little bonuses that ranged from money to chocolates.

"'I do think that if he is not included in the final list, my salary might increase by another thousand or so...' Lunacy!" Debierne's face was steadily growing more and more red till he was practically shaking with rage. He turned to Madame Giry, who waited silently to the side. "What do you think this _Phantom_ ," he spat the word, "is doing with all the money I send him month after month?" Madame Giry did nothing but stare blankly back.

After the first few months, Madame Giry had learned that the Phantom was indeed a female, a victory in Giry's eyes, and how to remain apathetic to all of Debierne's rants and raves. Erika leaned against the framework of the inner wall, awaiting Debierne's next move.

For a few moments, he did nothing but sit, flustered, in his seat, all the while staring at the note. Finally, he slowly folded the note and slipped it into his inner jacket pocket before speaking. "Madame Giry," his voice was controlled again. "I need you to go fetch Monsieur Reyer. Let him know it was I who sent for him, and please ask him to bring the list of chorus members he plans to hire." With a short nod, Madame Giry left the room, leaving Debierne alone with Erika.

Erika smirked again as she heard her plan falling into place. Christian will be in the chorus, just as he dreamed. The smirk slowly slid into a soft smile. She sat there a moment or two before remembering Debierne.

He was now pacing about his office, no pattern to where he walked. "At least the opera house won't be in my possession for much longer, if I get my way," he muttered under his breath, only just loud enough for Erika's sharp ears to pick up.

Shaken, and slightly confused, Erika began to glide down the passage back to her home. _I ought to keep an eye on Debierne for the next few days..._

****

**_~*~*~*~*~*~_**

 ****

That voice. Those words. That voice. They haunted Chris's thoughts the next day. Those words. "Forget me and I shall forget you," it had said. How could he forget such a voice that, in those few softly spoken words, had entirely entranced his mind? That had taken control of his thoughts, of his spirit? That voice. It was too soft to really tell, but it sounded too high pitched to be male. Then the way it tenderly said, "And I shall forget you," almost as if she, for Chris had decided that it was, in fact, a female, was telling herself more so than him. There was no way he could forget her. No way he would even try.

At the end of the third day after the strange encounter with the disembodied voice, the list of chorus members was posted in the costume room. Too tired and disappointed to look, Chris just left for the evening and headed over to the Giry's for some dinner. Arriving at the humble, yet immaculately organized home, Chris knocked twice rapidly on the door and stepped back, waiting while rocking back and forth. The door swung open and in the doorway was not the old, yet still beautiful, Madame Giry, but her daughter Meg.

Those three months ago when Chris first came to the Opera Populaire, Meg was the first person he met and the first person he really got to know. They grew close because she also knew his mother, which is what drew them together in the first place. As time passed, Meg expressed a small interest in Chris as more than an acquaintance or friend, and Chris agreed to court her. Those two weeks were pleasant, but both agreed that they weren't suited for each other and were better off just friends. Since then, Chris's friendship with the small brunette had flourished and they became the best of friends, despite the gender gap.

Meeting Meg with a swift embrace, Chris smiled and said, "Hello. I hadn't expected to see you tonight." Smiling back up at him, Meg simply shrugged, then gestured for him to come in. Upon entering the abode, Chris removed his cap and stomped his feet, dislodging any dirt that may have caught on their soles. He and Meg both gravitated towards the dining room, where Madame Giry was found looking over a copy of the chorus list. Looking up to see Chris, she gave a smile.

"I wanted to congratulate you on your success," Madame Giry said after Chris gave her a brief hug. At his look of confusion, she gestured toward the list that she had been reading a moment before. As Chris's confusion increased, Meg grabbed the list from the table and glanced over it.

"Look here, Chris," she said gesturing to the paper in her hand. "'Christian Daáe.'" Meg looked up a Chris's face. "You're in the chorus for this next season." Chris quickly snatched the paper and read over it himself. Bewildered and still confused, he stumbled back until he hit a wall, where he slowly slid down to the floor.

"I-I..." He muttered. "I didn't even..." Chris looked around helplessly. "How did..." Defeated, Chris let the paper fall to the floor as he ran his hands through his hair, his brow furrowed.

"Didn't you audition? You said you were going to." Meg crouched next to him, laying a hand gently on his shoulder. Chris shook his head, and looked up into her dark green eyes.

"I didn't get the chance to. I-I got lost and was too late." He rolled his head to the side and looked at the list lying so innocently on the floor a few meters away. "I-I don't know how I ended up on the list. I had nothing to do with it. Nothing..." He trailed off.

As Meg tried to console her best friend, Madame Giry bent over and picked up the paper. Reading over it again, she slowly lowered her arm, a frown set deep into her face and concentration wrinkling her brow. _Could it be her?_

****

**_~*~*~*~*~*~_**

 ****

Erika was, once again, behind Debierne's office walls. It had been almost a week since the incident in the theatre and the chorus list had been posted. Erika was feeling accomplished that she had been able to avoid seeing Christian all that time, but, for some reason, she felt hollow and empty. _As if something was missing..._

Erika jumped from her thoughts as the office door opened and three people entered. Two were business men, obviously in their late thirties or early forties, who were as different as they were similar. They both wore formal tuxes, top hats, and bow ties, but one was tall, thin, and had hair while the other was short, stout, and had a comb-over. The third person in the party, who also entered last, was a petite woman who held herself like royalty, with an air of pride and arrogance. _She's quite beautiful..._ Erika thought sourly as her hand lifted instinctively to the right side of her face.

The woman had large eyes, a small and slightly curved nose, and a round, heart shaped face that was framed by perfectly set golden curls that flowed past her shoulders. She wore a simple, yet still elegant, sea-foam green dress that accented her light hair and dark eyes. Her neck and ears were decorated with rich jewels, but her hands were bare of any gems. With each passing note of the woman's obvious beauty, the burning in Erika's stomach grew stronger.

"Messieurs Firmin and Andre," Debierne bowed to the short and tall gentlemen, respectively, before turning to the woman. "Madame Vicomtess de Chagny," he purred as he lightly kissed the back of her hand.

_So she's a Vicomtess?_ Erika seethed, hidden in the wall, _I'm liking this woman less and less._

"I hope your travels were pleasant and uneventful," Debierne smiled widely, much out of his character. After receiving nods from all three, he continued, "Now, let's get down to business." Erika straightened. This is what she came to listen to. "The two of you," Debierne looked at the two gentlemen, "are wanting to purchase the Opera Populaire with the Vicomtess de Chagny as your patron? Is that correct?" The two men nodded as the Vicomtess simply smiled blankly. "In that case, let's talk numbers."

The following conversation consisted of Debierne suggesting prices to Andre and Firmin who, in turn, disagreed and suggested their idea of a good price. All the while, the Vicomtess de Chagny sat in her chair, still proper and prideful and arrogant, growing increasingly bored. Erika waited behind the wall, interested, as she listened to the three men haggle on a price of HER opera house. Albeit she didn't own it by law, but Erika had put enough effort into the well-being of the Opera Populaire that she had every right to claim it as hers.

****

**_~*~*~*~*~*~_**

 ****

Chris strode into the Opera the next day with a mission on his mind. There would be no daydreaming until he had answers. Without knocking, he pushed open the manager's office door, ready to speak his mind, when he noticed that the manager had the company of two gentlemen and an elegant young lady. Suddenly embarrassed by barging in like that, Chris shifted awkwardly on his feet, everybody's eyes solely on him. Finally figuring that he wouldn't speak, the manager turned back to his three invited guests.

"I assure you that we keep things up to standard in order to make a profit. You will not be disappointed," the manager gave a half smile, obviously very nervous. Given the chance while the four people talked, (well more like the three men talked, for the young woman just sat and listened) Chris got a chance to observe the three new faces. The two gentlemen were almost peas in a pod. They wore similar outfits of formal tuxedoes with a top hat and cane, and both held themselves the same way, with the same arrogance. The shorter of the two seemed easily angered, for his face looked as though it was constantly flushed. He also was rounder and had a balding crown that was revealed when he removed his hat to dab his brow with a silken handkerchief. The taller of the two seemed to have had a less stressed life. He was tall and lean and, even though age had pinched the skin around his eyes and on his forehead, his head was full of hair.

After thoroughly observing the two men, Chris's gaze moved over to the lone lady. She was small in size, but had a confident air about her. She wore a long sea-foam green dress that had a small bustle and white lace trim on the bottom, ends of the sleeves, and around the neck. She wore her long blonde hair up in carefully sculpted curls that rested on the back left side of her head and gently cascaded down to her shoulders. On her ears she wore dangling sapphires, but bore no ring on her finger. And her eyes were a swirling hazel that seemed to move between green and brown without ceasing. Upon making that final note, Chris realized that she was watching him, watching her. Embarrassed again, he quickly lowered his head and didn't raise it until he heard the manager clear his throat.

"Well obviously you came in here for a reason," he said. "What might it be? I would like to finish my PRIVATE conversation." The manager looked at Chris expectantly.

"Well..." Chris squeaked out. His face flushed red again, but he cleared his throat and continued. "I came to discuss a decision made about the choosing of the chorus members." Chris gained confidence as his voice remained steady. "There was a name on the list that surprised-er ... shocked me to my core for I was unaware that the person in question ever auditioned." He tried to hide the fact he was talking about himself.

The manager, however, seemed to catch on who Chris was talking about. With a nervous glance around the room, he stood and said to his guests, "I must apologize, but this matter must be attended to immediately." Nodding to each of them as he passed, the manager grabbed Chris's arm and dragged him out the door.

Debierne had just agreed on a price with Andre and Firmin when Christian burst into the room ready to speak, mouth open and breath drawn. Erika nearly fell when she saw him. After days of staying away, just seeing him was like finding water in a sweltering desert. How could she have almost given him up?

Obviously embarrassed by his rude entrance, Christian's ears grew red as he stepped back and waited for Debierne to finish with Andre and Firmin. Erika was watching him when his eyes found the lovely Madame Vicomtess de Chagny and she felt a sharp pain in her chest when they lit up with interest. She waited in agony until Debierne finally called Christian out.

"Well obviously you came in here for a reason. What might it be?" Debierne grew impatient and pressed. "I would like to finish my PRIVATE conversation." Christian shifted from foot to foot, nervous.

It took Christian a bit before he was able to relay his question, which was, coincidentally about his acceptance into the chorus. Erika's ears pricked up at Christian's curiosity. _Does he have any inkling that I am behind it?_ Her heart soared momentarily before reality came crashing down. _How could he? He heard my voice once and has probably forgotten me by now..._ Erika sat in self-pity until the door shut loudly behind Debierne and Christian, who just left.


	4. Chapter 4

"What do you think you're doing?!" the manager demanded once they were out of hearing range of the office. "Do you not realize I have a lot riding on that meeting in there? No, of course you don't. You, a mere... stagehand?, know nothing of the workings of this opera house." He stood and rubbed his forehead in frustration for a moment. "What is it you wanted?"

Chris stood for a moment, stunned by the torrent of accusations and reprimands. "I-I was just wondering how, and why, I was on the list of chorus members when I didn't even properly audition?" The manager smiled grimly and nodded.

"You were... how do I say it... recommended by a person of very high status," was the manager's cryptic answer. Not any more enlightened by what was said than before, Chris just stared blankly at the manager. The silence stretched on for a minute or two. Nervous and irritated, the manager gave in and said, "Look. There was a note left about your job in this opera house, and so I complied with the demands." He dug in his vest pocket. "Here. Read it. Draw your own conclusions and then ... DESTROY the thing for all I care!" The manager took out a crumpled envelope and thrust it into Chris's hands before marching back to his office.

Puzzled at the manager's enigmatic statements and exit, Chris gingerly unfolded the envelope and slid the letter it contained out. It read:

__

Monsieur Debierne,

__

I request that your stage manager, Monsieur Reyer, rethinks 

__

his decision of not taking the young man, Christian Daáe, 

__

into consideration when choosing this next season's chorus members.

__

I do think that if he is not included in the final list, my salary 

__

might increase by another thousand or so...

__

Best wishes, 

__

O.G.

__

Chris just stared at the note for a minute. _O.G.? Who the hell is he?_ Then a thought occurred to him. _Could it be that that voice... that angel... was this "O.G.?" If so, what does O.G. stand for anyways...?_ Without disposing of the note, Chris walked silently, contemplating the new found information, until he reached his room which he entered and closed the door softly.

****

**_~*~*~*~_**

 ****

It took Erika a minute or two before she found her way to her best hiding spot in the hallway. When she got there, Debierne was thrusting a crumpled envelope into Christian's hands, practically yelling, "Draw your own conclusions then ... DESTROY the thing for all I care!" Erika watched uninterested as he stormed back into his office.

She looked back at Christian, waiting for a reaction as he read her latest note to Debierne. _Will he care? Will he guess who I am?_ Erika fretted, anxiously clutching at her ever-present cape. Then, as Christian proceeded to simply read the note and sit in silent thought, Erika's heart settled till it was practically still. She watched silently as he stood and drifted down the hallway towards his room. Erika made a move to follow, but thought better of it and returned to Debierne's office.

Upon passing into his room, Erika heard Debierne exclaim excitedly, "So, we are at an agreement then?" Peeking through her hidden spy-hole, Erika saw Debierne switch between shaking hands with Andre and Firmin. All three were smiling, though it didn't reach any of their eyes, and only the Vicomtess de Chagny, who was still seated on the chair, was quiet and solemn.

Just as Andre and Firmin began to move towards the door, the Vicomtess de Chagny stood and spoke up, for the first time during the entire conversation. "Who was that boy?" Debierne looked at her, startled. "You know, the one who was in here a few minutes ago?"

Debierne half smiled. "Oh, he was nobody of importance. Just a chorus boy who is a bit full of himself." Erika saw red at that comment. Christian is anything but egotistical!

The Vicomtess de Chagny seemed a bit ruffled as well. "I only wish to inquire of his name. Is that too much to ask?" Debierne's face didn't change. "I am the patron after all..." Debierne closed his eyes and rubbed the space between his eyebrows, finally persuaded.

"His name was Christian Daáe. He is a simple boy from Sweden with a famous father and dead mother. He has been working at the Opera Populaire for three months, as a stagehand until recently." Debierne sneered lightly in the Vicomtess's general direction. "Is that sufficient information?"

The Vicomtess suppressed a smile, though her eyes still glittered with excitement. "Yes. Thank you." Erika glared at the rich young noble though the wall, hoping her burning gaze would rid the woman of her chipper nature. It didn't. Everybody left swiftly with a few polite 'good-bye's and 'farewell's. Andre, Firmin, and the Vicomtess de Chagny left for their carriages that waited outside, while Erika went towards Christian's room for the first time in almost a week.


	5. Chapter 5

Later that evening, Chris emerged from his silent stupor after many hours of contemplation. Feeling famished, he decided to take a walk and reflect on his recent revelations while grabbing a quick bite to eat. The first chorus practice wasn't until the next night and Chris was going to enjoy his last day off for a while.

He donned his usual brown newsboy cap and knee-length coat and walked out the door, humming all the while. As he reached the main road, just outside the Opera Populaire, Chris felt a strange prickling at the nape of his neck. Turning around, he scanned the practically empty side street he had just turned off of. Seeing nothing, Chris cast one last wary glance behind him before setting about his way again.

As Chris walked down the populated and bustling streets of Paris, he took time to stop and talk with everyone he met. In one moment he would pause to share a joke with the baker; the next, Chris would give a lady a hand with lifting; the next, he would crouch to talk to a kid off the street. Socializing with every person he had never seen before came easy to Chris, but he always seemed to have issues being this brave and unafraid when it came to affairs at the opera or about his mother.

"Mother..." Chris stopped dead in the center of the sidewalk. Three months later and it still hurts... Rubbing his chest slowly, Chris started moving forward again, without the upbeat step he had moments before. Walking without really being aware to where he was going, Chris was stuck in the past.

Chris had always been close to his mother after his father had vanished when he was only seven. Though he was still young, Chris had understood what it meant when his father had left their lives, and he tried his best to be the man he knew his father never could be. Each day, Chris would wake at the very first lights of dawn and start working. He helped around the estate that his mother was a governess at and added all the little wages he earned from generous tippers to the small salary his mother had left after buying the essentials, saving up so they could buy tickets to go see an opera, a personal dream that they both shared.

Chris's mother, Jacqueline, was always a small, thin woman, even in her prime. Her bright red hair was always pulled back, though no matter how hard she tried, a few curls would spring loose to form a halo around her long face. Their lives were simple, and perhaps a bit rough at times, but happy. Chris grew into a strong, kind young lad, and Jacqueline never stopped smiling. It was paradise. Then she got sick.

The doctors said that a cure was beyond them and, with each passing day, Jacqueline's condition grew progressively worse. With each day, Chris had to watch his mother, his sole parent, grow weaker and weaker as she burned with a fever, though she never stopped smiling. It got to a point where, in order to calm her fever-induced delusions, Chris (who was born with a natural gift that he practiced daily on street corners in order to pick a few more francs) would sing the same lullabies that were sung to him, to her.

On that last day, Chris shakily sang, " _My heart is like a rainbow shell that paddles in a purple sea._ " Jacqueline cupped her shaking hand to the side of his face, wiping away the tears that ran there. " _My heart is gladder than all-_ " Jacqueline's hand slowly slid down until it hung limp. " _-these because my l-love..._ " Chris was unable to continue because the tears threatened to drown him, and he lost his voice when he finally lost his mother.

Starting out of his thoughts, Chris found himself in an area unknown to him. He had wandered far, lost in memories. Spinning on the spot, Chris assessed the situation before finally deciding that he would have to do the one thing no man should ever have to do. Chris had to ask for directions.

****

**_~*~*~*~_**

 ****

When she reached the back of the mirror, Erika found Christian readying himself for departure. Thankful that she wore clothes she could move swiftly, and relatively unseen in, Erika removed her cape and followed Christian up to the back door out of the Opera Populaire. _Where is he going?_ Erika watched, hidden in the shadows.

Erika initially shadowed Christian's foot falls and stepped where he stepped, but even so, she had to recede silently into the shadows when Christian turned. Because where he walked was so crowded, Erika stayed to the rooftops, out of sight. Unfortunately, Christian stopped frequently. Fortunately, it was periodical and predictable so Erika never lost him a moment.

As she hid behind the steeple of a small church, Erika smiled at the exchange between Christian and a baker. He seems ... comfortable in crowds, Erika thought with a smirk. After he stopped talking, Erika moved forward about five roofs, and looked down at the street, expecting Christian to be right next to her. However, when she glanced down, he was nowhere to be seen.

Panicking, Erika doubled back, racing along rooftops and frantically scanning the streets. When she didn't find him lagging behind, she moved forward, hoping to find he had gotten in front of her. Still, Christian was missing. Practically in hysteria, Erika jumped down to an empty alley way and dashed along the back road, looking for Christian there. _Lost... LOST! How did I lose him? Why did I have to lose something so important?_

About an hour later, Erika finally found Christian wandering a back street near a pub. When she found him, a weight was lifted from her shoulders. When she noticed the three men surrounding him, a ball of fire began to burn inside her. Treading carefully in the slick mud, Erika silently slipped her ever-present Lasso from her belt, and readied it.

****

**_~*~*~*~_**

 ****

After glancing around once more, Chris determined that the best place to ask was the tavern he had spied across the street. As he dashed through the mud, Chris's foot caught on a stray rock and he slipped, landing face-first. Scrambling to get purchase in the slop, Chris didn't hear anybody approach until a large hand grabbed him by the elbow, lifted him clean out of the mud, and carried him into an alleyway adjacent to the tavern.

In the side-street, Chris was thrown to the ground once more and he looked up to see three large and burly men around him in a semicircle. Feeling the tension of the situation, Chris slowly got to his feet, dusted off his clothes and the newsboy cap that had landed in the dirt, and judged the situation. _Three thugs... Three thugs..._ Chris rubbed the back of his head. _I know I'm strong from heavy lifting, but I don't know if I could even handle one thug..._ The three men began to slowly step towards him.

"L-look. I don't want any trouble," Chris stammered, hands raised in defense. Hugging the corner, Erika could just overhear Christian stammering to the three thugs. "I-I'm just lost and need directions back to the opera house." Glancing around the corner, Erika watched angrily as the men drew closer and closer to Christian. Soon one was close enough to touch him, his grubby fingers reaching out, and Erika burned with untapped rage.

In a flash, she had whipped around the corner and secured the Lasso around the closest thug's neck. Slowly tightening the thin rope, Erika grimaced in an almost pleasure as the man suffocated. After letting him suffer a moment, Erika snapped the Lasso quickly, breaking his neck, and removed the rope from the dead man.

Using the other two men's surprise to his advantage, Chris charged at the thug nearest to him, the one that had initially grabbed him out of the mud and brought him to the alley. Hitting him in the gut with his head, Chris stumbled trying to regain balance after the man fell and hit his own head against the wall with a resounding crack.

A cry in anger reminded Chris of the third adversary and he turned only to feel a fist hit his nose with a crunch. Chris crumpled to the ground, clutching his face, blood dribbling through his fingers. He glanced up and, upon seeing an oncoming foot, flinched away from the towering thug.

Glancing over at Christian, Erika saw him ram a second thug into the wall, unintentionally knocking him out. Before she could react, the third man had charged and punched Christian in his nose. Christian fell to the ground, clutching his face. The man pulled his leg back to kick. Blood was dripping between Christian's fingers. Erika saw red.

Within seconds, the final man was caught within her Lasso. She sneered in outright joy as the man's face turned a deep red and then a pale white. So engrossed in his pain, Erika didn't see his arm flailing towards her until it hit her. As the wild arm pushed her away, the Lasso tightened, snapping the man's neck, and Erika instinctively slipped it off before crashing painfully into the far wall.

When the blow never came, Chris looked again to find the third and final enemy on the floor, his fate just like the first. A small cry of pain rang out, and Chris turned to see a slim figure leaning against the wall farthest from him.

In the darkness, Chris could barely make out the form of a young lad, based upon size and attire, who had his dark hair loosely pulled back in a small ponytail, and whose hands were gloved, one holding a coiled rope and the other clutching his arm. Noticing that the boy was hurt, Chris scrambled to his feet and stepped towards his young savior. 

Looking down at her injury, Erika couldn't help inhaling with a hiss as she cradled her right arm. Hearing a stumble and grunt, Erika looked over to see Christian approaching, concern in his eyes, and instinctively pulled deeper into the shadows. When Christian kept coming, Erika slowly shook her head and backed up before running away.

As she ran, still cradling her arm, Erika heard Christian shouting after her. Anxious to thank the 'boy', Chris ran to follow, calling out, "Hey! Wait!" Erika made turn after turn, hoping to lose Christian, while at the same time leading him to a familiar area. Chris's long stride helped him gain ground and he quickly caught up with the lad, even though the boy had taken many turns and remained off the main roads. Chris caught the boy's uninjured arm and nearly dropped it again for it was unnaturally cold.

Christian's hand loosened slightly when it met her skin, but Erika was too broken to pull away, and it soon tightened again. She began pull away, refusing to face Christian, even when he wheezed out, "I... I just-just wanted t-to thank you." It wasn't until he grew angry and shouted, "HEY! I'm just trying to thank you!" that she stopped struggling.

Erika heard Christian sigh in relief. She dared to turn her head slightly so only the left side of her face was visible and she could see him in the dim light. Chris softened his voice, "You didn't have to help me. Most people wouldn't. Thank you." He dipped his head in an almost bow. Erika felt a deep set warmth bloom in her chest. When the 'boy' gave no reply, Chris looked up again, finding a soft golden eye trained on him, the boy's profile barely silhouetted in the dark.

In a semi-shocked state, Erika slowly pulled her arm out of Christian's grasp. Before he could react or capture her again, Erika gently whispered, "Forget me," before running off and hiding in the near shadows where she knew he would never find her.

Chris, stunned at the hasty departure, whispered to himself, "'Forget me,' " and realization struck. That was no boy. He had just come face to face with his angel.

Erika saw as he mouthed the words to himself. She saw as realization settled in his eyes. She watched as a smile lit his face, and Erika smiled too. _He was happy to know it was me..._


End file.
